There's something a little fishy

It's our living room! Meet our newest creatures, who shall, for now, remain nameless. Mostly because they, um, don't have any names.

Speaka ze English?

There's been a lot of talk lately about immigrants needing to learn English. I don't really understand all the hubbub myself. When I'm in a foreign country I find it helpful to have my English-speaking-only self accommodated with a few signs and instructions in my language. So, I don't really mind being instructed to "pulse dos para espanol" when I make a phone call.

In fact, lately I've had a couple of encounters that have confirmed my long-held suspicion that it is not foreigners or immigrants who need help with the English language. It's salespeople and other customer service employees. I think we need a special button for them to press because I do not think we are speaking the same language.

I submit as evidence thereof the following two "conversations:"

Saturday, August 21, 2010 in the hair salon at Walmart:

Sales Girl: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, I'm looking for shampoo without sulfates.
SG: Without what?
Me: Sulfates. I had this crazy expensive keratin protein treatment put on my hair and was told to use only sulfate-free shampoo.
SG: Oh, well, let's see.

We peruse the shelves before finally finding one on the last set of shelves in the salon.

Me: Oh good, it's buy one get one half-off.
SG: No, it's not.
Me: But there's a sign on the shelf that says, "All Pure Results products, Buy One Get One 50% off"
SG: That's only for the products.
Me: Right, the Pure Results products. That's what this is.
SG: No, shampoo is not a product.
Me: Huh?
SG: It doesn't apply to the shampoo and conditioner.
Me: But it's hanging on the shelf that contains nothing but shampoo and conditioner. And they are both Pure Results.
SG: We can put the sign on any shelf we want. Shampoo and conditioner are not products.
Me: Do you know what "product" means?
SG: Product means things like gel and mousse and such.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010 in the Atlanta Airport:

Scene: waiting for the train that carries passengers between terminals and the baggage claim area. Said train normally arrives every 90 seconds, and there is a little digital countdown clock that says how long until the next train. On this particular day, the clock keeps going higher (longer wait) every time it gets under 2 minutes. After standing and watching the countdown clock go up and down for about 4 or 5 minutes, I decide to ask the "attendant" sitting at a little attendant stand nearby if he knew what was going on.

Me: Are the trains not running?
Airport guy: The trains are running.
Me: Do you know how long until the next train gets here because the clock keeps changing?
AG: It'll be here soon.
Me: Don't they normally come every couple of minutes?
AG: It comes every 90 seconds.
Me: But, it's been about five minutes. Do you know what's wrong?
AG: Nothing's wrong with the trains.
Me: Well, do you have any idea when a train might actually come?
AG: The train comes every 90 seconds.

So, I am considering launching some sort of initiative for salesperson language training. Or at least a button I can press when I speak to them so that we are both using the same language.

Maybe "Press two for idiot?"

Good Things

I love these kids. Sometimes I look at them, especially the three on the end, and my heart is so full it could burst.

This is it, I think to myself. This is what life is all about. Could there be anything better?

The answer to that is yes. There is something much better. Someone at least.

I find that I'm often satisfied with the things this life has to offer. Friends, family, food, laughter, beaches, campfires, sunsets, music, love. There are so many good things in this life I'm living that it's sometimes easy to be satisfied with the earthly version of God's good gifts.

I'm reminded of taking my boys to play games at the arcade when they were preschoolers. I didn't even have to put quarters in because they were content to steer and maneuver while the game was in demo mode. The glaring, all-caps "Please Insert Token" didn't diminish their enjoyment in the slightest.

They were completely satisfied with a fake game, never even knowing that there was a "real" version.

God has filled the world with His goodness, surrounded us with glimpses of Himself. When I stop and think about it, most everything good in life can be seen sort of as a "fake" version of the "real" good thing - the ONLY good thing - God.

We build friendships and learn that there is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother.

We fall in love and get married and realize we have a Bridegroom who loves us with an everlasting love.

We become parents and know the depth of a Father's love more fully than ever.

We create and get a glimpse of a Creator's heart.

What the Holy Spirit has been prompting me to remember lately is that the things God has given us, the oh-so-good things with which He has surrounded us, were never meant to satisfy. They were meant to make me hunger for the Giver of all good things.

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." (Romans 1:20-21)

May I never be satisfied with the gifts but treasure them as merciful glimpses of a good and gracious Giver.

Morning Checklist

1. Daughter up all night with a sore throat I hope is not strep . . . check
2. Dining room table full of breakfast dishes I don’t have time to clean up . . . check
3. Front porch (carpeted) full of nasty smelling water and dead crayfish my son knocked over this morning . . . and which I do not have time to clean up . . . check
4. Purse full of giant plastic motorcycles and horses keeping me from being able to find my freakin’ keys . . . check
5. Headache . . . double check

Seeking Shadow

Yes, I'm writing about the dog again.

Shadow seems to really love our home. Nevertheless, he has run away approximately six times now.

Last week was one of those occasions. I was in the backyard (cleaning up dog poop, what else?) when one of the kids opened the back door, and Shadow bolted out like greased lightning.

Knowing I had no chance of simply catching him, I went in the house and gathered my supplies: a leash to lead him home, a hot dog to lure him, and a knife to cut the hot dog into toss-able pieces. I grabbed the first sharp knife I saw, which was a Cutco steak knife.

So, there I was walking around the neighborhood with a leash, a hot dog, and a steak knife . . . but no dog. After ten minutes without a sign of him, I loaded the kids and the supplies into the van so we could drive around and look for him. Half an hour later, we sadly returned home having seen neither hide nor hair of Shadow.

Naturally, as we pulled up to the house, Shadow came bounding around the corner onto our street and happily returned inside the house. The kids were ecstatic.

Later that afternoon, Josh was trying to find the leash to take the dog back out. I told him I had probably left it in the van.

He came in with the leash and a very concerned look on his face and asked, "Mom, why do you have a steak knife in the van?"

"Oh, I forgot about it. I took it in case I needed to cut up hot dog pieces to lure Shadow to me."

Relief literally washed over the face of my son, who like Eeyore, who has the ability to anticipate the worst-possible outcome to every scenario.

"Whew! I thought it was because if you found Shadow hurt, you might have to kill him."

Yes, son, I was going to put the dog out of his misery . . . with a six-inch steak knife.

Happy Anniversary, my love

This is a poem David wrote for me while we were dating. Just one of the many reasons I fell in love with him. Happy anniversary, my love. Now you're a published poet.

Take Five

My life in five quick takes:

1.
For those of you who have asked, Ethan is doing very well. He feels just fine and seems to be suffering no ill effects from the accident. I told a friend tonight that I'm amazed at how active he can be without riding a bike, running, jumping, or climbing trees. He spends a lot of time in the creek catching crawdads.

2.
The kids set up a stand on the sidewalk last week to sell their crawdads. They made signs that said, "Crayfish: 2 for 25 cents." When they informed me of this plan, I told them not to get their hopes up because no one was going to buy their crayfish.

Boy was I wrong. They sold 8 of them. They also added lemonade to their inventory and managed to make almost $25. (This was split between my kids and the neighbors who were also involved in this joint venture.)

3.
I would LOVE to show you pictures of said crayfish/lemonade stand, but I am having a problem with my SD card. For some reason, my computer cannot find any data on it even though when it's in my camera, the pictures appear just fine.

I am about as literate in computers as I am in Swahili, so the information I'm finding on my google searches is less than helpful. Something about drivers, but I don't think they are referring to cars or golf clubs.

4.
I am officially retiring from my 13 month volleyball career tonight. For the sake of myself and my fellow players, I am done. This has mostly to do with the fact that I'm pretty irrelevant to most of the plays, but my swansong happened to coincide with jamming or breaking or stoving my left index finger.

Are you familiar with the term stove as a verb? Meaning sprain? Me either.

Someone wrote this to me in a text a few months ago ("I stoved my wrist"), and I figured it was a typo. Then tonight David kept saying I stoved my finger. Huh?

5.
Have I mentioned that I'm in physical therapy for my back? It's been getting worse and worse for the past few months, and now that I'm in physical therapy, it's getting even worse.

Yay.

Since my first appointment, my PT has diagnosed me with a rotated vertebra, a degenerative disc, and a hypermobile sacro-iliac joint. All at different appointments.

I'm not sure if she keeps finding new things or if she was just wrong on all the first counts. Oh well, at least she's helping my pain get worse, so I'm getting something for my money, right?

Catch Up

I've sat down to play catch up on my blog about five times in the past week, but I never quite make it all the way to there. I'm not sure how much of it is being too busy to write and how much is just not really having much to say. (I know, very un-Beck-like.)

Speaking of un-Beck-like, last night I was lying in bed talking to David, and I kept being unable to retrieve from my brain the words I needed. We were talking about Trinitarianism and baptism (no, this is not normal fare for our late night conversing). I had a thought in my head, but I kept mangling it as I tried to put it into words. Fortunately, David is smart enough that he only needs minor prompts and can figure the rest out himself, so he put into words exactly what I was trying to say. (See why I married him?)

I then started to tell him something else, but it just seemed like too much trouble.

I said, "That's it; I've run out of words for today."

He was shocked and, I dare say, a little pleased.

With any luck, a little sleep should have refueled my word-tank, so let me tell you about the biggest change in our household in the past few weeks.

W got a dog.

Yes, you read that right. If you've been reading my blog for a long time, you may remember the Hearsay fiasco. Suffice it to say, our last attempt at becoming dog-owners proved short-lived.

But since I'm a slow learner, I thought we'd try it again.

The new dog's name is Shadow, but I'm thinking we should have named him Greased Lightning. He's fast.

He sees a crack in the baby gate blocking the stairs, and he bolts like lightning. He sees a sock lying unprotected in a corner, and he's as hard to catch as a greased pig. Heaven help you if you drop a stuffed animal or a pair of underwear from the laundry basket.

I assume he needs to chew simply because he's a puppy. I choose to believe this because it means a.) he will grow out of it someday and b.) he will grow out of it someday. He will grow out of it someday, right?

How sad is it that I found myself trying to outwit him this morning. He had chewed up all of his rawhides and was completely uninterested in his rope toy, so when I was at the grocery store I picked up a couple more rawhides and a new rubber toy.

But I'm no fool.

I know he has no interest in toys that he's allowed to have, toys made for dogs. He wants Lauren's baby dolls and Josh's G.I. Joes and my curtains. So, instead of giving him the new rubber toy, I nonchalantly knocked it off the counter, and then when he started to pick it up, I took it from him and acted like he wasn't supposed to have it.

I know, I know, this will probably undermine efforts to train him, but I was desperate. I really needed to unload my dishwasher.

So, after I took it from him a few times I threw it into the living room, and he darted after it and chewed on it for more than ten minutes.

My name is Becky, and I am smarter than a dog.

Update on Ethan

(For those of you who don't know, Ethan crashed on his bike on Monday and lacerated his liver. He was life-flighted out of our town to a hospital with a trauma center 2.5 hrs away and spent the past a couple of days in the ICU. He had a stage 3 (out of 5) tear, but thankfully, did not require surgery. Here's the latest.)

We are home! :)

This week has been an experience I never want to have again, but I am so thankful for how it turned out. Ethan is okay, and we are out of the hospital.

After three days in the bed, he was climbing the walls today, full of energy and so ready to be up and around. When he literally put the back of his hospital bed as upright as it would go and began scaling it like Mt. Everest, his nurse let him out of the room to wander the hospital with me a bit. They had the best children's facility I have ever seen . . . playrooms, aquariums, outside decks, a dvd player and playstation in every room (dvd's and games were available free in a redbox type kiosk), and they even brought in a wii to his ICU room one day.

He is doing great now and not in any pain. Unfortunately he is on severe activity restriction for the next three months. No running, jumping, bike riding, rough-housing . . . anything that could cause his liver to bleed again. So that will make for a tough summer, but considering the alternative, we'll make do and be thankful.

The hospital went all out for his birthday today. The cafeteria sent him a cupcake with a card, a guy came by with a guitar and sang happy birthday to him, and the nurses made him a banner and gave him three wrapped gifts. Oh, and a root beer float!

His birthday notwithstanding, the hospital was just fantastic in the first place. In the ICU, he was given a shoebox-sized container full of activities and toys (a slinky, coloring books/crayons, matchbox cars, playdough), and then a volunteer came by and gave him a fleece blanket (his choice of colors) and a Batman pillow case. He got to bring everything home with him. (Unfortunately, when we got home, Joshua saw it all and said, "I can't wait 'till I get to be in the hospital!")

I have a new appreciation for children's hospitals and the people/groups who donate things to them. What a difference it makes to a child stuck in such a frightening, strange, and uncomfortable place. I will begin making donations myself in the very near future and encourage you to do the same.

I cannot thank you all enough for your prayers and support this week. It has meant the world to me and has been so encouraging to hear. I showed Ethan a Facebook thread and all the comments on it and told him that all those people were praying for him. He said, "Do you think there's 100 of them???!!" I told him at least. Thank you for giving that gift of encouragement to him and letting him know how much he is valued.

Logic is not their stong suit

As evidence thereof I offer the following two conversations:

#1.

Lauren: "Mommy, can I have a treat?"

Me: No, you already had ice cream today.

L: But, I reeeaaally need something sweet!

M: No, you may not have any more sweets today.

L: How about just a lollipop?

M: No.

L: I know!! How about one of those cookies I don't like? (We have chewy chips ahoy in the
cabinet, and we all agree they are terrible.)

M: No, it's still a sweet.

L: But, mommy, I don't even like them!!

I had to shake my head at her logic and cringe at her obvious sugar addiction.

#2.

Joshua: "Mom, come watch what I can do," he says as he jumps off the side of our porch and over our HUGE rhododendron bushes.

Me: Um, that doesn't look very safe, Bud.

Josh: Can you believe I can do that??!

Me: No, I'm definitely surprised. It looks sort of unsafe, though.

J: I know. I pray every time I jump.

M: Josh, if you have to pray that you don't get hurt doing something, it's probably not a good idea to do it.

J: Can I keep doing it please? I won't pray this time!

Working for what's already mine

He begged for a cap gun.

He got one for his birthday last year, and it broke several months ago. Having recently stumbled upon the remaining caps, Joshua began his quest to obtain a new one.

We saw one in Dollar General a couple of weeks ago, and he begged me to buy it for him. I told him no, that he would have to buy it himself. He begged, bartered, and pleaded. "If you buy it for me now, I'll pay you back when I get the money."

No, you have to have the money in order to buy it.

For the past two weeks, he's schemed and plotted how to come up with the money. On Monday, he was very close . . . only fifty cents shy of the necessary amount. Still, much to his dismay, I would not loan him the rest.

What he did not know is that I had already bought him the cap gun.

Joshua and Ethan were both recognized for having perfect behavior for the whole school year. Not a single color strip, which is the system of discipline used by their school. I thought an entire year of perfect behavior merited a small reward, so I bought them each one of the coveted cap guns to give them when school got out.

Meanwhile Joshua was begging for a loan, lamenting his lack of earning capacity, and just plain feeling sorry for himself.

Because he wasn't able to purchase a gun that someone had already purchased for him.

All he had to do was wait. Just be patient and wait. The prize had already been secured. All of his striving was in vain because the treasure he sought was already his . . . he just couldn't see it yet.

How much like me does that sound? Begging and striving and pleading when God wants me to wait.

To rest.

To be still and know that He is God.

I thought of two verses of one of my favorite hymns based on Psalm 130:

To wash away the crimson stain,
Grace, grace alone availeth;
Our works, alas! Are all in vain;
In much the best life faileth;
No man can glory in Thy sight,
All must alike confess Thy might,

And live alone by mercy
(Live alone by mercy)
And live alone by mercy
(Live alone by mercy)

Therefore my trust is in the Lord,
And not in mine own merit;
On Him my soul shall rest, His word
Upholds my fainting spirit;
His promised mercy is my fort,
My comfort and my sweet support;

I wait for it with patience
(Wait for it with patience)
I wait for it with patience
(Wait for it with patience)

(Click here for the rest of the lyrics or on the above link to listen.)

Wednesday in Pictures

Fist things first. Ethan lost his first tooth the other night. I am happy about how thrilled he is, but I am sad that his little baby-toothed grin is on its way out.




This is Joshua before school this morning. He likes to be ready ten minutes before the bus comes so he has time to read a little Magic Treehouse.



Today was Field Day. I LOVED watching the boys "compete" in the different events, have their faces painted, and hang out with their best friends.





But, most of all, I loved watching them dance. Picture this scene in a cafeteria full of 5, 6, and 7 year olds with insanely loud techno-type music blaring in the background. They loved it



Josh's favorite style of dance is the Russian fold-your-arms-across-your-chest-and-kick-your-legs.






Ethan loves a good old-fashion breakdance.






Field Day 2010 is over. Half-day of school tomorrow, and we are done!

7 Quick Takes

1.

I think it's possible that I have not fully given my heart to this new town 100%. Oh, I like it here, and I've thrown myself into making friendships and building relationships and all that jazz.

What I haven't done is let go of buttons # 1 and 2 on the pre-set radio stations in my van. Since moving here I have made the local station #3 and have changed the others when needed to use my ipod Monster, but I won't reset #'s 1 and 2 from my favorite Georgia stations. Never mind that when I go home I fly, so my van has not touched Georgia soil in over a year.

I just can't seem to let those two buttons go.

2.

After weeks of increasing pain in one of my back teeth, I finally saw the dentist last week. Cavity? Nope. Abscess? Negative. Stress? Yep.

"Do you clench your teeth?" he asked.
"Um, yes."
"Stop," he offered ever so helpfully.

Actually, he did offer me some muscle relaxers if the problem is that I clench them in my sleep, but no, that's not the problem.

I clench them all the time.

As I sit here typing, my teeth are clenched. As soon as I notice, I unclench them, but it's only a matter of minutes - maybe seconds? - before they are clenched again.

So, sure, I'll just stop clenching them.

3.

As I was cutting up watermelon tonight, Lauren was circling and begging like a poorly-trained puppy. I gave her a bite, and she said, "Mmmmmm, I just can't trust watermelon!"

What?

"Watermelon is soooo good, I just can't trust it."

Do you mean you can't "resist" it?

"Oh yeah, I can't resist it."

4.

Four more days of school!

5.

My boys got their very first genuine buzz-cuts today. I love it. They look adorable, and I will not have to comb their hair for weeks.

Joshua was less than thrilled when I told them I was taking them to get their hair buzzed really short. I proffered that it would keep them cool in the summer heat.

He said, "Do you shave your head in the summer to keep cool?"

Touche, my boy.

After I convinced him that there was no way I was going to let him have dreadlocks or a mohawk, he agreed that the buzz-cut was probably a good idea.

"But when I'm an adult," he said, "I'm gonna have dreadlocks . . . AND I'm gonna buy an axe."

Because, you know, that's what adulthood is all about.

6.

The kids are all upstairs with David watching G.I. Joe (the old cartoons, not the new inappropriate-for-children movie) as I am typing this. I am hearing all manner of fussing and crying and yelling at the moment. I love it when daddy's on duty.

7.

We had a fantastic time at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburgh last weekend.

They had dozens of "life-size" dinosaur skeletons. (This is Lauren's "fighting a t-rex" pose.)



A canoe in the Native American section:



The kids were able to use chisels and brushes and dig for dinosaur bones in a model quarry.







There was also a section where you could watch through the glass as employees they worked on the bones and other fossils. The kids loved watching this, and Joshua said, "Mom, I can't wait 'till I grow up so I can be a paleontologist."

It's what he's always wanted to be.

Check out Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes.

Let's Go, Beck! Let's Go, Beck!

(This title is meant to be chanted while clapping in rhythm with the words.)

I've decided that what I need (in addition to a maid, a personal chef, and some new white capris) is a cheering section. Yep, that's definitely what's missing in my life.

As I was watching a professional baseball game Saturday night, it occurred to me that it must be way easier, not to mention much more fun, to find the motivation to do one's job when there are thousands of people cheering you on.

Because, let's be honest, baseball is their job. They are not just out there to have fun; they are being paid obscene amounts of money to catch the ball and to make a hit. It's their job.

Yet, we chant and clap and stomp our feet - and pay a person in a mascot uniform to get people even more hyped up - all to encourage and support the millionaires on the field as they do their jobs.

Don't misunderstand me. I love baseball. I love the watching and the cheering and the sights and sounds and smells of it all. I've even taught my boys some serious trash-talking.

It's not that I think we should stop cheering for the professional athletes; au contraire, I think they are seriously on to something.

Imagine if we had cheering fans encouraging to the rest of us at our jobs:


Woo-hoo!! Go, Beck!! Come on, put that laundry away. Awesome job!!

Go Beck, go Beck, go Beck, draft that Motion to Compel. Aw, nice try anyway. You'll get it done next time!

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!

Not only that, but imagine the mascot possibilities. A giant spatula. An ironing board. Ooh-ooh, how about one of those lovesick brooms from the Swiffer commercials. And those are just for my at-home job. At work, I could use a giant talking gavel or even a file folder since that's what I spend most of my day working on.

(If you'd like to apply for the position of Beck's personal mascot, leave me a comment telling me which costume you'd prefer. This is a non-paid position, and I do not discriminate on the basis of race, creed, or religious affiliation; however, I do discriminate on the basis of personality, sense of humor, sports affiliation, dress, intelligence, and hairstyle.)


Yes, I definitely think professional athletes are on to something. Oh, and let's not forget, they charge people money to do this.

However, because I am abounding in generosity, I will offer free admission to my cheering section for the first dozen fans. I'll let you know when David's done installing the bleachers in my dining room.

Heck, maybe you should come cheer him on.

My little traitors

I carried them for nine months. Nine months during which I was in and out of the hospital due to such severe morning sickness that I couldn't stay hydrated without i.v. fluids. With one of them, I wore a subcutaneous pump because I couldn't survive without the medication it delivered continuously through a needle in my leg. Then there was the whole labor and delivery thing.

Not only that. I've bathed them, fed them, and wiped their little rear ends more times than I could possibly count.

I arranged for a weekend trip to Pittsburgh during which they would miss a day of school, see dinosaur bones at the Carnegie museum, and go to a Braves vs. Pirates game.

How do they repay me?

By rooting for the Pirates.

It's just the name. Not swayed by my explanation that braves were Indian warriors, they just think the Pirates have a cooler name.

So, if you hear me telling my kids that Atlanta's baseball team's real name is the Atlanta Man-Eating Savage Velociraptors of Death Braves, you'll know why.

Despite the betrayal, a good time was had by all, though Josh is always embarrassed to have his picture taken in public: